


No Great Change

by Azpou



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-30
Updated: 2001-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azpou/pseuds/Azpou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picard and Riker consider the ramifications of Admiral Satie's investigation. Spoilers for 'The Drumhead'. With thanks to EmGee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Great Change

_"It is a providence, and no great change; we are only what we always were, but naked now."  
\- Arthur Miller, The Crucible_

 

Jean-Luc Picard looked out at the stars, and cursed.

He stood in his uniform at the windows of his quarters. It was dark; he didn't have the heart to call for light. It would have exposed too much. Bad enough that his desire for shadows revealed more than he was willing to contemplate. To face those doubts in the cold light of day would have been . . . too much.

He swore again. He did not habitually use such language, but all knew that he could swear like a Klingon if the time and circumstances demanded it. It was, he felt with some justification, the perfect moment to scream and shout at the universe. It wasn't often, after all, that one's ideals, and therefore one's self-identity, were thrown out of an airlock.

It seemed that Starfleet was in danger of imploding. His chest tightened at the very idea. He found it hard to believe things had become so stale that they were susceptible to the whims of every paranoid fanatic who graced their ranks, but it was apparently so. Starfleet was, by neccessity, formed and held together by a unity of purpose which demanded that its officers protected the Federation by upholding its principles. Ethical and moral complications could not simply be cast aside in order to save it. The ends, Picard knew, did not justify the means. Violating the rules in order to protect those who would live by the Federation creed rendered Starfleet and its ideals utterly meaningless. He could not bear the thought that he had seen good men and women give their lives for something hollow.

His stomach growled suddenly, and he realised that he had not eaten for some time. The Admiral's work had left little time for small comforts. Many things had needed to be fixed. Crewman Tarsies' career had needed saving. Picard had refused to stand idly by and watch a young life ruined by a warped moral crusade, and despatched a message to Starfleet Headquarters almost immediately. The President of the Federation Council himself had responded via subspace, saying that it would violate Starfleet ideals to discriminate against an individual on the basis of their heritage and genetic make-up. The Federation would not always be in conflict with the Romulans, he hoped, and welcoming those who desired to help bridge the gap was perhaps the beginning of a way to mend the rift.

It had gone some way to healing the chasm that had opened in Picard's heart, but the part played by his own crew in the proceedings overwhelmed anything positive he might have been able to take from events. The way the Admiral had succeeded in manipulating Worf, as Security Chief, a Starfleet officer, and a Klingon disturbed him greatly. Worf was puzzled by his failure to recognise paranoia, and Picard had done his best to reassure Worf that his enthusiastic participation would not be held against him in the future, even as he buried his own resentment. Starfleet officers should not, in Picard's opinion, be so easily toyed with, though he knew in his heart that the trusting nature of the Federation left them vulnerable to more cynical enemies.

The door chimed.

"Come," he called quietly, remembering abruptly that the room still lay in darkness. He could not have made a more revealing statement as to his feelings about the latest events on the Enterprise if he had spoken his distress aloud, but he relaxed when he made out the silhouette of his first officer. Framed by piercing light, Riker looked like an ethereal visitor from another plane of existence, and Picard briefly considered the symbolic relevance of such a thought before dismissing it as absurd. No doubt there were parallels between certain events that took place on Earth before the more enlightened age dawned, but there was nothing religious about the Admiral's crusade. Then he pondered his use of the word 'crusade', and wondered.

"It's a little dark in here, isn't it?" Riker's voice was light and vaguely amused, but Picard heard the veiled concern. It sometimes worried him that he and Riker knew each other so completely, seeing it as an intrusion into his life, but he found despite this that the positive frequently far outweighed the negative.

"I didn't really notice," Picard answered, moving away from the window. "Computer, lights." He winced and blinked in the sudden brightness.

"Fifty per cent," Riker amended dryly, stepping inside. The door swished shut behind him.

Picard stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of a strong body wrapped by an immaculate uniform. Riker wore Starfleet command red well, he noted for the hundredth time. Riker scrutinised him with the same level of appreciation, and as always, Picard fought down the flush of embarrassment that threatened on such occasions. It was ridiculous, he knew; he was a grown man, a Starfleet captain, who could take being mauled by amorous Klingon women better than he could withstand appreciation from his partner. Riker found his shyness "cute". Picard thought himself pathetic.

"Have you eaten?" he asked Riker quickly, to distract him. Riker laughed at him softly, mocking Picard gently, but he shook his head.

"I've been playing poker," he answered, moving over to the couch.

"Any luck?"

"Oh, yeah," Riker drawled. "As always. They don't provide much competition, although Data is improving quite spectacularly."

Picard laughed, loudly. "As expected. He can probably computate the probability of you having a straight flush, or two pair, or whatever according to the actions of those others participating in the game."

"Yeah," Riker said. "It's a good thing poker requires some degree of human skill for a player to be successful."

"Human skill," Picard mused teasingly. "So you're the one who taught Data that euphemism for deception."

"Bluffing, Jean-Luc," Riker said mildly. "We call it bluffing."

Picard shook his head in despair, and moved to the replicator. "What would you like?"

"Steak," Riker said immediately. "With everything."

"Everything," Picard echoed. "What does 'everything' constitute?"

Riker laughed, and stood, moving over to him with a slightly predatory smile on his face. Picard watched him advance in barely concealed delight. He loved the casual flirting that preceded their encounters. The burn started low in his belly, alternately churning heavily and swirling lightly, until by the time the food was consumed they were both hard and erect, ready and willing for the main course. They always ate before making love, but they both knew that the meal itself was merely the appetiser.

He turned to face the replicator, pretending to fiddle with the control panel. He shivered in pleasure as Riker pressed up against his back, the possessive growl deep in Riker's throat making Picard groan. He felt the beginning of Riker's erection press against his ass, and reached back and squeezed him through the cloth of his pants. Riker gasped sharply, and turned Picard around by the shoulders before claiming his lips for a hot and hard kiss.

When they eventually separated, they smiled at each other sheepishly and ordered their meal. Picard laughed when Riker claimed he was no longer hungry for food, and playfully commanded Riker to sit down and eat before Doctor Crusher reported him for allowing his crew to become malnourished.

"Even though in your case that's slightly unlikely, Will," he added, meanly, taking perverse amusement in Riker's snort of indignation as they sat at the table.

"I'm well-built," he said sniffily, "and content."

"Deanna told you that, didn't she?"

"It was better than 'seasoned'," Riker admitted, grinning. He reached across and took Picard's hand, stroking his fingers lightly over Picard's wrist. "You don't mind, though, do you?" he said, with one of the filthiest and most suggestive leers Picard had ever seen.

"Not at all," Picard said, lifting Riker's hand so he could kiss the teasing digits. He blinked innocently as he sucked Riker's thumb into his mouth for a moment. Riker watched him delightedly. "There's so much more to hold on to," Picard added, cheekily nipping Riker's thumb with his teeth before laying his hand back on the table.

Riker laughed, and they ate their meal happily, discussing ship's business while at the same time steering clear of the Admiral's misplaced investigation. Picard thought privately that 'investigation' was too polite a term for what had taken place. 'Trial' was far more accurate, 'witch-hunt' even more so. It pained him to admit it, but he had no doubt that, had Starfleet not sent an observer to witness his own questioning, he might indeed have lost his captaincy. He refused to allow himself to believe that his reputation was sufficient to save him from such political manouevring, as the Admiral no doubt had the skill and influence to carry out her threat. Nor would he allow himself the arrogant belief that he could have outwitted her had she tried to do so; although they both possessed the same skills to some degree, for his work as a diplomat was similar to hers as a practitioner of law, he was well aware that he would have been forced into her arena to fight the battle. It would have put him at an immediate disadvantage.

The only thing that had saved him from total humiliation on the witness stand that day was his refusal to be intimidated. Having seen how easily she manipulated Worf and his security personnel, using their positions to emotionally blackmail them into complying, he had been prepared to defend his violations of the Prime Directive in public. He had also known she would question him about the Borg, although he had hoped she would not. Indeed, he had hoped so fiercely that when the words fell from her lips, he had been almost as unprepared as if he had never entertained the possibility in the first place. It had not been pleasant.

He tried not to wonder which "bigger men" she'd brought down in the past, but despite his best efforts he could not help but feel sympathy for anyone who might have fallen victim to her hysteria. He knew better than to doubt her claims. He'd met her kind on many previous occasions, but had always believed Starfleet and the Federation immune. Even after the disappointments and betrayals, he had still believed in the ideals he fought for. He still did, in fact . . . he simply found it harder to believe that others, particularly his superiors, could feel the same way. There were precious few admirals he trusted implicitly.

He became aware that he had finished his meal, and that Riker watched him carefully, concern openly apparent on his face. He smiled weakly.

"Hell of a day, huh?"

"Understatement, Will," Picard said wryly. "It's been one hell of a week."

"Yeah," Riker said. "She was quite . . ."

"Mad, I think, is the word you're looking for," Picard said bitterly. He stood and took hold of their plates. He marched to the refresher and tossed them in angrily, and then marched back to the table and sat down again. He glared at the table top for some minutes, and then looked up at Riker. "She was mad," he added. "I could see it, right at the end."

"So could everyone else," Riker said. "I think everyone knew something was wrong when she decided to question you."

"You mean that there are some places people aren't prepared to go," Picard said gloomily. "In that kind of situation, when fear rules, very few are sure of their 'moral' convictions."

"You think fear had a lot to do with it?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't a rational proceeding," he snapped. He held his breath for a moment, and then said, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Riker assured him. "What were you going to say?"

That was the most wonderful thing about Riker, he knew. He was always so willing to listen. Picard smiled at him gratefully, and said, "Fear had everything to do with it. It was very much a case of being either for the court, or against it. There was no road between the two. As far as she was concerned, anyone who did not agree with her methods was a spy. Not just a potential spy, but an actual traitor." He wearily lifted his hand and rubbed the heel of his palm across his forehead.

"You won, Jean-Luc," Riker said quietly. "Everyone knows what she is now. It won't happen again."

"Won't it?" Picard sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "What will happen if it does? Will we just sit back and watch while everything we risk our lives to protect quietly implodes like a collapsing star? Some people will, you know. And those who don't sit back and watch will either be fighting for our principles, or destroying the basis of our society while claiming to protect it. Either way, I don't like our prospects. Civil conflict, Will? If she hadn't been stopped -"

"But she was," Riker interrupted swiftly. "You stopped her. She didn't get to take her witch-hunt off this ship, and we should be thankful for it. But it doesn't do any good to imagine what might have happened if you hadn't succeeded. It's all very well speculating that we're potentially the next Roman Empire, but until it happens there's no point in worrying about it."

"Yes, but -"

"No buts," Riker said sternly. "If it happens, it happens. I have no doubt you'll deal with it perfectly." He stood and stretched, and Picard watched him with suddenly hungry eyes, attempting to make out the play of muscles beneath Riker's uniform top.

Riker stared downwards at Picard sprawled lazily in his chair, and laughingly held out a hand. "Come to bed?"

Picard grinned, loving Riker at that moment, and propelled himself out of his seat and into Riker's waiting arms. He pulled Riker's face down to his own, and devoured his lips desperately. They kissed savagely, Picard seeking to lose himself and his cares in a sea of sensation. Riker willingly obliged him. They staggered the length of Picard's quarters, clinging to and stroking each other as they went, swiftly shedding unwanted clothing. They made it to the bed without breaking anything, much to Picard's amazement, and sank down onto it, disturbing the perfect military symmetry of Picard's private sanctuary.

They laughed at each other's naked bodies, kissing and licking at small scars and imperfections, before Picard grasped Riker's erection in a firm hand and pumped him slowly. Riker thrust upward helplessly, moaning as Picard's thumb delicately caressed the head of his cock. Picard smiled in unconcealed satisfaction at the realisation that he could bring his passionate first officer to such pleasure, and slowly kissed his way down Riker's body so that he could take Riker's organ in his mouth.

Riker arched off the bed in pleased surprise. Picard smiled around the cock between his lips as he felt Riker's hips jerk uncontrollably. He wrapped his hands around the length of Riker's shaft that wasn't enveloped by his mouth, making a tight tunnel for Riker to fuck. Riker moaned, and reached down to carefully smooth his hands over Picard's head. Picard knew Riker was always wary of causing him discomfort, and was grateful for it.

Riker didn't last long. He thrust his cock between Picard's lips once, twice, and then grunted sharply and came, slumping back into the pillows with trembling breaths. Picard worked to swallow the semen that shot into his mouth before raising himself up on his elbows and slowly crawling to rest his body over Riker's. He kissed Riker on the lips, and rested his head on Riker's shoulder, sighing as he felt Riker's hands rise to lightly trace patterns on his shoulder blades.

It was odd, he mused, that they almost never brought each other off together. It would have solved the problems of power and submission they'd briefly come up against when the whole thing had begun rather better than taking turns. But Picard knew he'd grown too fond of watching Riker in the throes of orgasm to give himself up to pleasure at the same time, and he suspected Riker felt the same. Watching was part of the process for both of them. They hadn't yet experimented with masturbation, which was nothing short of a miracle, he knew, although not for want of trying on Riker's part. Picard was deeply uncomfortable with the idea of displaying himself in such a way. He knew it was foolish, as Riker watched him anyway, but there were levels of voyeurism that his defenses simply could not cope with.

"Thank you," Riker eventually murmured against his ear, tingling his skin.

"For what?" Picard said, lifting his head. He was always puzzled when Riker said thank you. He kissed Riker, again on the lips, and found his face held between strong fingers while his mouth was plundered. He moaned as Riker's tongue swept around in his mouth, almost not noticing when Riker skillfully altered their position until he lay on his back.

Riker released his lips, and Picard stared up at him in satisfaction as he saw the seductive darkness in Riker's bright blue eyes. He bit his lower lip, hard, when Riker nibbled on his nipples, reaching down to caress his hardness with callused palms. He was made too-suddenly aware of his somewhat forgotten arousal, and he jerked and whimpered helplessly. He heard Riker chuckle, and dimly knew that he should care about the ridicule, but found himself unable to do anything but experience the waves of pleasure that crashed over him.

He came quickly, sooner than he would have liked, but gave up the idea of prolonged play while his cock softened. He was tired, he knew, and while ordinarily he might have felt annoyed by his unwillingness to make love with Riker, he was for once content to simply lie and relax. His eyes slid shut, and he heard Riker fetching warm water and a cloth from the bathroom to clean him. He enjoyed the gentle, playful swipes of the fabric across across his still-sensitive skin, but did nothing to participate. He listened to Riker disappear back into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Riker always showered after they made love. Picard had been somewhat insulted at first, but kept it to himself, and quickly realised that Riker simply liked to feel clean. Picard was more often than not quite content to sleep in whatever mess they made during the course of the night, but Riker had on more than one occasion insisted on changing the sheets at three in the morning. Picard indulged him, because he liked Riker rather a lot.

He lay still, pondering the events of the day in a vain attempt to block out the cheerful, but off-key, singing that emerged from the bathroom. Riker had a rather obscene habit, in Picard's opinion, of being overtly smug after they made love, as if he'd accomplished something truly marvellous in making his captain gasp and moan like a swooning teenager. Picard bravely ignored it, but inwardly he alternately fumed and laughed. Riker amused him a great deal.

If he focused hard, he could see the stars as the Enterprise rushed by them reflected towards him in the mirror that hung on the wall oposite the door to his bedroom. He liked to look at them at night, when he could not sleep or had been awakened by nightmares. They soothed him. He could no longer imagine himself retiring from Starfleet, despite his brief flirtation with the Atlantis Project on Earth after the Borg attack on the Federation. He excused his self-doubt with the knowledge that he quite literally still hadn't been quite himself, although in truth he was still somewhat alarmed by his willingness to desert Starfleet in an attempt to out-run his own conscience.

Perhaps the Admiral had a point, he suddenly thought. Perhaps he had betrayed the Federation when he was captured by the Borg. Perhaps it was possible to question his loyalty. Perhaps it was even possible to question his right and ability to command the Enterprise. Perhaps . . .

He clamped down on his sudden rush of paranoia ruthlessly, telling himself firmly that the Admiral was merely a misguided woman made deranged by the responsibilities of her self-appointed role as the saviour and deliverer of the Federation. Riker trusted him, and so did his crew, and that was more than enough.

"Hey." Riker interrupted his thoughts with a quiet greeting.

Picard looked up, and smiled at him warmly, shifting over in the bed to make room. Riker sat down and eased in gently, rolling onto his side in order to pull Picard into his arms. Picard didn't resist, and sighed tiredly as he felt Riker's chest press up against his back.

They lay quiet for some time. Picard kept his eyes fixed on the stars in the mirror on the wall, Riker's regular breathing hot against the nape of his neck. He liked lying like this with Riker. He felt warm, and secure. It reminded him of the first time they'd made love, when things were sweet and awkward and unsure, both of them innocent. He wasn't sure what they had, as he half-suspected Riker's soul would always belong to Deanna, but perhaps he possessed a little of Riker's heart during their times together. He hadn't a clue what Riker gained from their relationship.

"It's . . . kind of a paradox, isn't it?" Riker commented suddenly. Picard frowned as his arms tightened fractionally.

"What is?"

"How we maintain the Federation," he explained. "It needs rules to protect the freedom we all have."

"It's a fragile balance," Picard agreed quietly. "I think in the last week we've seen what happens when that balance is disturbed. It doesn't take a great deal. I don't like that it doesn't take a great deal." He felt Riker's lips curve into a smile against his neck, and he smiled back into the darkness.

"I thought you said we weren't to worry about this?" he said, lightly teasing.

"I did," Riker said, his voice warm. "But you were worrying anyway." Picard laughed, shaking his head, and Riker kissed him gently, lazy with impending oblivion, just beneath his ear. "Sleep."

Picard shook his head again, and kept staring at the stars. Riker's breathing began to even out, and he found himself relaxing still further into the arms that held him. All the same, he could not help voicing one last question. "I wonder what will happen to her."

"A quick and quiet retirement, I should think," Riker mumbled sleepily. He kissed Picard again, and added, "Nothing's really changed, Jean-Luc. You know that."

Picard smiled sadly at the stars as Riker drifted into sleep. "Yes," he said quietly. "That's the most worrying thing of all."


End file.
